


Fahrenheit Bruises

by Noid



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Completed, M/M, but what can ya do with an apathetic killer, forceful kisses, not quite smut, palming/rubbing the crotch, subtle orgasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noid/pseuds/Noid
Summary: I did a thing. I hope it's good. ♥





	1. Chapter 1

Quentin looked up, the nap having made him more tired and it was almost impossible with the heat of the boiler room. Maybe it had been three minutes or something but regardless, it was never enough. The handcuffs that brought his arms 'round to the hot pipe behind him stayed in place, not seeming phased at all by the disgusting temperature. Even as Quentin tugged on the mechanism on his wrists, the metal felt much cooler than even his skin, even though it should have been impossible.

He closed his eyes tightly, unsure of how long he had been here. By now, he was certain the others' had noticed his strange disappearance when he had left to go find the hatch for extra goodies. He wanted to have the upper hand and now he was suffering whatever consequences that awaited him from the dream master. 

A pair of footsteps echoed from the stairs he was facing and he gritted his teeth. However, there was a strange series of goosebumps that alerted him that there was something different. The aura was thicker, like a foreign miasma of an old, abandoned city and the footsteps echoed like the heartbeat he heard everytime he decided to bear witness to the Entity's and killers desires. 

There was someone new coming this way and it wasn't Freddy at all. 

The white-faced horror stepped down from the stairs like the ghoul he was, his gaunt mask hollowing out any sort of life he could have possibly been given by the flames of the fire. Shadows stretched across his looming form while he stopped as if he himself wasn't already a menace of the dark. 

Horror clutched Quentin's heart as he lost his breath, a cold feeling washing over his chest that didn't bring him any bliss to his hot skin. He leaned back against the very edges of the cuffs, trying hard to not touch the hot iron that could quickly burn his flesh off into blisters. No matter what, he wanted that vicious beast to stay as far away as he could possibly be.

He watched Myers place one foot in front of the other, his movements as languid as the tail of a fish through water. There was no mistake that Michael was an experienced killer through the years of chasing Laurie.

Moving as far back as he physically could, he felt his back touch the wall, knees digging hard into the dirty concrete. He could feel the heat concentrating along the back of his leather belt. It was just below what he would call distracting as Michael continued to stride towards him, his knife in hand like always.

"Keep away from me! You and I both know you're not supposed to be here!" It was not the best idea to spit anything at the man who embraced the feeling of Halloween but so what? How many times had he been swept up by the fangs of the Entity after having his heart carved out of his chest, his face split in half by a hatchet or a trap snapping his jaw off?

He had been killed so many times that he wasn't afraid to die, but the people who caused such pain- They were the reason he ever had any fear at all. 

Michael didn't answer, but he didn't need to. He never needed to when the knife in his fist spoke for him. 

A hand reached out and Quentin leaned so far back that he was awkwardly pushing almost onto the pipe itself, his hot neck hitting the brick wall. 

"Don't touch me, don't _touch_ me!" 

Quentin turned his head and chin away as far as he could but the refreshing, chilled hand grabbed his chin. Despite the sweat and grime, Michael held fast onto his bone structure, forcing the highschooler to look at him directly.

_He had the blackest eyes..._

_The devil's eyes..._

The boy stared, seeing the slight outline of hungry eyes that pierced through the shadows of the boiler room and the mask. There was nothing there that he could see. No flash or flutter of emotion that could give away anything that Michael was capable of being or even feeling. It was clear that the man appeared very much apathetic.

But then why was he here?

The handcuffs suddenly could no longer hold the weight of the boy. They tipped to one side and then his open his wrists fell onto the boiling iron, the metal searching his tender flesh, his weight shift forcing his body to furthermore burn the soft inside of his arms. He lost all focus on Michael as he cried out, throwing his body to the opposite side he was leaning against. Though, of course, he didn't get very far but it was enough for him to feel the air hitting the already swollen skin. 

In relief, he realized he had slipped out of Michael's hold, the sweat that dipped along his skin helping with his temporary freedom. 

There was no way he was going to happily look back into those eyes that sent unhappy tremors up his spine. There was something that simply left him to not have any desire to glare in the direction of the killer. He wondered how much fear Laurie had been a part of to look at this man and hiss like an irritated cat.

Steady fingers ran through his sweaty bangs, creeping under his beanie. Quentin leaned away to the side, not daring to touch the pipe anymore but he still desired to get away from this pale hand. It wasn't ideal as the skin in the cuffs twisted, causing him to wince against the fresh pain on his wrists. 

Regardless of his attempted movements, that same hand came back and dragged its fingers through his hair. This time, Quentin could do nothing as his hat fell off and onto the dirty concrete. As that hand slowly retreated from his hair, the highschooler kept his eyes fiercely glued to the floor, no longer wanting any sort of eye contact or to even look at the bastard next to him. 

Michael moved in the corner of his vision and suddenly there was a loud snap of thin metal breaking. Finally, Quentin turned, looking at the beast of a man as his arms fell to his sides, free from being attached to the boiling hot pipe. The chain was completely crushed but the cuffs remained.

He looked up as the serial killer moved to stand, shadowed eyes more ominous than before. For a long moment, all he could do was stare, like something was gripping him and telling him to not move. Sweat dripped from his chin and jaw without fail as he remained as still as a rabbit, up until he watched Myers turn and walk out of the basement, the steps wailing under his weight.

With a stutter and an awful tingle in his numb legs, he tried to do the unthinkable. He tried to talk to Michael and follow behind him, wanting an explanation for granting him freedom.

"H-Hey! Myers-!" He got five steps behind the bastard before he turned, causing the boy to pause in his advancement, knees shaking as they regained feeling. "Why? Why would you do that? It wasn't in your gain or your favor. Is it to spite Freddy? Is that it?"

Quentin moved too quickly to pursue Michael. His entire body was now trying to shut down from how hot his body was and his anxiety was not making it any better. Black spots were starting to dance in front of his eyes and he couldn't see where the killer's eyes were. His head felt light and his lungs couldn't get enough air in. No gasp could fill his lungs as his legs finally gave out, his heat tolerance finally coming to a peak.

He was having a heat stroke.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders as he fell backward. Instinctively, albeit weakly, he fought back by trying to push against the man's chest. The smell of old blood was an easy scent to catch but it was never one that he could get used to. 

Another arm pulled up his legs from behind the knee, clearly telling him that he was really not in the position to keep struggling if he could be picked up like a bride. He would have been much more embarrassed if he wasn't feeling like he was drowning.

The sound of footsteps up the stairs let him know where they were until cold air hit him in the face. It was a blissful feeling, getting out of the boiler room by even just stepping outside of the range of heat. They hadn't even reached the actual outside air and he was still thankful for just being released from his sticky prison. 

Quentin's eyes finally adjusted to the surroundings, his heartbeat in his ears. Color came back to his vision and he could see white spots surrounding his peripherals. He barely took notice of being adjusted in Michael's arms but he knew, that for certain, he loathed the idea of being slung around like a sack of potatoes, or carried like he truly meant nothing to them. It made him so angry that he always took care in getting Laurie's action of stabbing them in the back.

Teeth suddenly dug into the crook of his shoulder and he yelped loudly. His hands blindly came up to the brute's neck, trying to squeeze and push against his throat with whatever might he had that was trying to return. The fact he could feel Michael's body not moving an inch- It scared the hell out of him. 

Michael's teeth were uncomfortably sharp and the more Quentin struggled, the harder he could feel him bite until tears stung his eyes. 

His lips finally popped off his skin, only to be replaced by firm lips and a tongue that clearly seemed interested in the bleeding welts that he had left behind. The boy felt his cheekbones naturally redden as saliva coated the bite and he hissed, writhing to try and shove his hands against the man's jawline. 

He felt relief once again as Michael's mouth finally moved. Quentin would have relaxed more if he didn't bite in another area on his neck, suckling on the spite without seeming to feel any remorse nor emotion about it.

The boy knew exactly what Michael was doing.

He could feel the bruises welling up into painful marks that he wouldn't be able to touch later. Each toothmark that found its way to his skin would cut the surface, causing it to bleed either a little or a lot, there was no in between. It was, all the same, painful and embarrassing to receive. Being marked by Michael meant that Freddy would be either pissed off as all hell that his own prey was marked by another, or that he would laugh so hard about it he would lose a lung. Again.

Quentin looked up at the man just in time to eye the blood on his pale lips and the unruly stubble just before the mask came back down with the help of the hand that looped around his knees. His eyes narrowed and Quentin, without hesitation, gave him the middle fingers with both hands before shoving them directly into the killer's sockets.

Almost immediately he was dropped, and he took this time to throw himself to his feet and sprint as fast as he could to the nearest exit gate, feeling his weak knees nearly give out every other step. The air kissed his skin and the hot bruises on his neck but he didn't even care anymore. All he knew now was that he was going to need to borrow Jake's high-collar jacket to avoid humiliation.


	2. Bruised Lips

Another battle, another night. Quentin had managed to find a series of chests that held multitudes of small bottles with pills that would proceed to help him with staying awake. Even when the circles under his eyes turned a deep violet, he was determined entirely to stay awake, confront Freddy personally and no longer run from. Even though the last attempt had gone disgustingly a different direction of defeat, he was tempted to keep these rounds of hell going, even if the cuffs on his wrists were a savage reminder of what happened last time.

Breathing in, he listened for the revealing of the hatch as he crouched through the grass. Michael was here again and had thoroughly managed to chase off everyone. Claudette had been good to them all, keeping them healed with shaking fingers while David was a wonderfully loud distraction. Feng was also fairly good at throwing expletives and distracting the ghoul from his current chase.

Watching Michael stalk around, searching with those black eyes made him shudder and get down further amongst the hedges of Haddonfield. Even still, his cheeks felt hot from their last encounter as he still possessed dark bruises in the crook of his neck. He managed to borrow one of Claudette's scarves and explained to her the problem. Without a single word, she had given him what he needed to hide the embarrassment and received a hug before they had departed back to the camp.

With care, he stepped one foot in front of the other, just like Nea had taught him. He took the movement with great care and moved around to try and look through the grass, eyeing patches of blood and droplets that had rained down from when he had hit them across the arms or shoulders. It was apparent Michael was very good at aiming for the face.

Checking once behind him, Quentin soon stood up, hugging the corner of the nearest home with his back as he could. His fingers dug into the siding, holding onto it so he would be able to stop shaking from his nerves. Maybe he could calm down eventually, but that was probably impossible with the fact this bastard had no terror radius; no heartbeat to give away any sort of discerning feature that he was coming around the nearest corner. 

The boy was looking back as far as he could, trying to check out the distant backyards where meathooks swung, hedges shuffled and crows sifted through the grass with their narrow, needle-like beaks. He wondered if they would alert the man if he even moved from where he was now. 

With a shrug and a quick exhale, the highschooler turned to stalk further for the hatch. Black eyes met his own and for a moment, he finally felt the urge to scream as his heart went to his throat. 

A hand came up and immediately clamped down around his mouth, the bones so firm that he could easily feel those callused fingers holding strong onto his jawline. Both of his hands came up, using all the strength in his dirty fingers to claw at Michael's skin. He knew it did nothing but there was just something he could do to fend this guy from getting so close to him.

However, what worked on Freddy didn't work on Michael.

With only a slight warning of Michael's shoulder tensing, Quentin felt his head hit the wall forcefully. Once, twice-

And he lost consciousness.

He woke up slowly, feeling blood, dry and cracked, sticking to his temple. At first, he felt as though he was finally rendered blind as he blinked, seeing nothing but endless darkness. It only took him a few seconds to register the blindfold and his sweater binding his wrists at his stomach. Just by rolling his wrists, he could feel that it was fairly loose. Though this was a comforting notion to take, he also pondered as to why this was all necessary.

A hand touched his leg and he jumped, immediately registering the cold touch through his jeans as Michael. Freddy would already be slicing his stomach open or licking his ear. No in-between.

That hand jumped up to his neck and he automatically found himself instinctively swallowing, waiting for pressure and the sense of terror. His palm was cool, hovering over his Adam's apple and he stayed, almost obedient as he waited for the sound of anything; a knife gliding against a button, heavy breathing, the shuffle of weighted workboots...

A finger came up to his mouth and he instinctively moved his jaw to bite down it. Almost immediately, his teeth snapped audibly at air and the killer's hand was now catching his jaw. Those fingers pinched inward, forcing Quentin's jaw open like a small bear trap and the boy was forced to obey. He only wondered for a few seconds as to what was going to be shoved down his throat before he felt something balancing sharply on the corners of his mouth.

Michael let go and the boy forcibly bit down, trying to find what was exactly stopping him from bitching at the killer. The sharp edges of the massive kitchen knife cut slightly into the tender corners of his mouth, causing him to stiffen and immediately move his hands to take it out.

His hands only got up to his chin when he felt Michael's fingers just hovering over the blade balancing between his teeth, ready to press down like the knife was a lever to a juicer. Cold spikes shot down his spine and, for the first time, he whimpered. He couldn't imagine the pain of being sliced through the jaw, the pain of having the vertebrae severed while part of the tongue was slowly sliced like meat behind the deli bar. He wanted to speak but he feared that the item would slice his tongue and he would die from bleeding. 

Hauntingly gentle fingers grazed his cheek, then ran through his hair. He flinched, trying to gather breathes through his nose. Those fingers slowly trailed back down his aching temples, over his jawline, along his throat and only stopping at the hem of his shirt. 

Immediately, his face burned almost as hot as what happened in the boiler room. He could feel Michael's hand sliding up under his shirt, blindly feeling along the warm skin. Quentin sucked in his stomach with a soft hiss. It was such a temperature contrast that he almost felt dizzy, teeth clenching hard onto the blade of the knife that had been used to stake so many on the wall. Like ornaments.

A thumb slowly ran along the soft flesh of his chest, causing him to lurch with a slight squeal. Every time he wiggled, he could feel his shirt riding up more and more on Michael's arm, leaving more of his torso exposed to the chilled, October air. As if Haddonfield was permanently stuck in the mood of Halloween.

Quentin pressed his hands against his chest, feeling a shudder from the cold air finally getting to him. He could hear the sound of elastic stretching and then hitting the floor. It worried him greatly but his mind became half-distracted as he felt a pinch on the right side of his chest, fingertips dancing around his nipple. The force was enough to cause him to wiggle but it wasn't enough to be painful, which surprised him. Wasn't Michael trying to open him up like a package of Hamburger Helper? 

Dry, sinful lips pressed against his throat. Quentin could feel, as they softly pressed against his Adam's apple, that they were heavily bitten and torn, perhaps from the problems Laurie and other survivors had always put up. He felt those lips lay gently against his throat, right over his jugular. The teenager's head spun as his temperature quickly rose in his face, heartbeat fluttering against the killer's mouth.   
The blade in his mouth faintly moved and he immediately gripped it tighter with his teeth, not wanting it to deal sudden damage to his mouth. In surprise, he felt it slowly being moved away from his own lips.

"You're... What are you doing, Michael?" He could barely catch his breath as those lips left slight scratches on his skin. "If you're going to kill me, just do it already! ...Please. I don't...want to suffer." He couldn't help it as he could feel tears well up in his covered eyes and his voice to catch. He was so tired, so exhausted and he already felt defeated. What was this man _doing?_

The blindfold was suddenly lifted and he could feel the shift of bodyweight above him. He cringed as all lights danced around him, almost blinding with how dark it had previously been. Did he always have trouble seeing in Haddonfield's area, on tiny Lampkin Lane? 

Quentin finally looked up and he swore he almost fainted. 

Bearing those bloodied and battered lips and wielding an eye color as beautiful as the deep sea, was a man he knew by force but didn't know by first glance. Hair of false gold, clearly greasy and tangled, brushed over the broad shoulders that he had been carried on many times before. 

"Michael?"

He received a soft head tip to the side, those black eyes staring right into his own with a lifeless but extremely intimidating gaze. Despite how awful they were to look into, he couldn't look away. It was as though if he broke contact, he felt Michael would lose all semblance of a tamed beast and would kill him mercilessly, driving his bloodied body into the couch cotton.

A much more gentle flutter started up in his chest as the man leaned forward, those filthy lips brushing against his before flattening firmly. Not once did Michael blink, Quentin noted, as those lips explored without boundaries. He could feel a broken, front tooth, daring to cut open his upper lip but even still, the killer was taking his time with this new territory. Quentin felt thankful as he could barely hold his breath.

A hand slipped around his jaw and pried it open once again. A whir of panic filtered a gasp through his lips but it was muffled fast.

_Oh my god, he's better than anything I think I've ever had._ A devilish mouth was now on his own, taking him entirely by surprise and keeping him completely captive. The murderer knew, somehow, exactly what he wanted. The simple little kisses had transcended into a rough battlefield of rough biting and a newfound tongue battle. He could feel the weight of the body trapping him in, forcing him to struggle only uselessly against a chest that had been stabbed more times than he could count. 

It was an endless bliss and his only threshold of air happened upon him when Michael moved, biting hard on his neck. And _exactly_ where he bit last. 

Quentin hissed, digging his heels into the couch. "Michael-!" 

Then he felt his soul practically sink down far into Hell. Michael's palm stretched right between his legs, pressing firmly against the most sensitive spot on his body. He could feel his eyes roll back into his head as he gasped. The man took the opportunity of bliss to leave more bruises on his skin, causing him to squirm and writhe as much as he pleased. It only rewarded him with the feeling of warmth spreading up through his belly, causing his hisses of pain to melt into soft moans.

Quentin melted, giving in as pleasure rose, coiling into his hips. He wasn't sure if he was entirely at the man's mercy yet, but so far, he was rewarded. Quentin was prepared for some sort of catch to crop up later, even as Michael's frame completely forced him open, eliciting moans from the young boy that he never thought he would hear.

Hell, he wasn't even sure he would have been up to this kind of play about five hours ago but he supposed he was now.

Michael's mouth dominated his own again. Each mouth movement matched the sweet movement between his thighs and he could feel the heat spreading more and more. He could see stars, his cheekbones hot and his lips wet from constant biting and sucking. 

Even as the heat grew almost unbearable in his loins, he could only moan into Michael's throat and press his hips greedily against his hand, earning the one above him with more soft sighs and gasps. Quentin found out that the killer didn't hesitate in giving the boy his peak as his hand moved with each buck of his hips, creating more sensation and more sensitivity to his groin entirely. Finally, he shuddered and fell back into the couch, mouth open and eyes hazy. 

Michael pulled back and he could see the depths of his eyes as he felt sleep swallowing him. His muscles were relaxed, Freddy wasn't here and he could feel hands running through his hair.

Quentin fell asleep under the hands of the most infamous killer; Michael Myers.

* * *

"I don't get it!" The dream master exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air before scrutinizing the wall before him, having already lost a reason to furthermore watch Quentin and his crew. "I just practically saw the boy willingly go up to him and get stabbed."

_The kisses were so sweet, even with the blood in my throat-_

"Perhaps when it comes to the Devil," the Nurse hummed, adjusting her skirts with a fidget, "he gives in."

_There's a longing I can't explain-_

"I guess," he hissed, tapping his blades on his burnt cheek. "Something happened, I think."

_An ache I can't shake-_

Sally tipped her head to one side, cluelessly so, but it made him scoff. Why did she have to do what Michael did in mock interest? 

_The Boogeyman has abducted me-_

"Perhaps," she whispered, "he has stolen away your victim from you?"

_And I am now collared by lust._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a thing. I hope it's good. ♥


End file.
